


Need Any Help?

by bonniebloome



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Harry Potter - Freeform, I would write a novel about this if i had a long enough attention span, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, POV Pansy Parkinson, Squib!pansy, Witch!hermione, i am so confused, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 02:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16296815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonniebloome/pseuds/bonniebloome
Summary: Pansy Parkinson, a Squib?Pansy, emotionally fractured and blasted off of the family tree, lives by herself in southeast England.It must have been Fate, for her to live on the same street as the Granger's. It must have been meant to be, for her to witness a young Hermione Granger.Even if Pansy never had the guts to talk to her, tripping seemed to do the job of grabbing attention.





	Need Any Help?

-

Smoking her handcrafted, haphazardly rolled cigarettes never affected her this much.

The backdraws never burnt her throat so harshly, never made her head spin and her vison shake. Or was that just everything around her shaking? She never knew she could lose control of her body like this.

When she first started smoking, she had vowed to never grow dependent on. To never let it control her, cause her to dig around in ashtrays, or wander the streets with an eye out.

She thought she had succeeded, because the only evidence of withdrawal was irregular breathing or her stomach falling. She laughed it off, what would one more cigarette do?

Now here she was, smoking a cigarette that was stronger then her pathetic excuses of rolled up paper. Perhaps it had to do with her using tabacco mixed with ash. 

She had to grab her long since cold, too strong coffee from beside her, drank it eagerly as her hands shook, she thought nothing of the liquid that spilt and ran down her breasts, soaking her long sleeved shirt.

Her hands trembled, and she had to sit back, ash now on her shirt along with everything else.

She hadn't changed clothes in three days, she hadn't showered or even brushed her hair. She was a disgrace.

The cigarette had been pushed onto the surface of the packet, the last of its use sucked dry. She had to stub it out repeatedly, the embers stubbornly staying alive.

She placed the coffee down, and laid back on her couch.

Why was she here, smoking and laying around, wondering what use she could be, if she couldn't be?

Pansy Parkinson was a Squib, and not even she could find an ounce of her being that could care. She stopped caring a long while ago.

You generally do once your parents outcast you, blast you of the family tree. 

Remembering such former normalities, of magic and creatures and things, caused her heart to ache. Such things were only regretful, bitter thoughts now. 

She was sixteen and living on her own, hidden away in the muggle world from all eyes that pried.

Her parents were only so strong, they could only handle so much. Parkinson, a noble house, holding a place on the Sacred Twenty-Eight list.

And here she was, a Squib.

Oh, how she resented her birth. Sometimes, when she lay awake at night, she wondered.

Such horrible, treacherous thoughts occupied her mind. Sometimes she wanted to die, not because she couldnt handle living, just to see if Death were a being, or just a state of mind.

She thought so much, sometimes, that she had to stop. Fear of such things were unhealthy, what did normal sixteen year olds do?

What did wizards and witches do?

She would never know, becaus she never cared. Being sixteen shocked her sometimes. She would be sitting there, numb to emotion and eyes unfocused, when suddenly, she realised just how old she was.

What a waste of life, indeed.

She knew something was wrong, desperately so. Her body wouldn't react as she thought it should, and bones broke differently when it was Pansy.

People shouldn't like hurting themselves, not for the reasons she did. 

It felt as if something was stolen from her, emotional depth, or maybe just her emotions in general. 

Sometimes it fely as if she could only feel emotions at their most vague.

When Pansy was a young girl, she had explored her body, and found it boring.

She felt nothing, and put it down to just being emotionally fractured, even though she couldn't understand why.

In times like this, she wished she could be a normal girl. Get drunk and masturbate, read novels and laugh, smoke cigarettes for a different reason.

Why did she smoke again?

She hated herself, honestly. But sometimes, she loved herself, too. Loved the way her body cuved, or how her dark hair would pull back into a bun. 

Or how boys would look her way sometimes, she felt... 

Not important, not loved, just... different. She had no word for it, but she felt like she loved herself too much. Even now, spitting into a plastic come and feeling sick, she couldn't help but love herself.

Even if she came up empty handed when wondering why.

Sometimes she wished she had a family, a loving, proper one. But even then, her emotions were cut too short for such petty things as love.

She lived close to this house, with this lovely little couple that she couldn't help smile at everytime she walked past. 

In her mind, it represented family.

The type of family that she hated, just because of the warmth it held. Everytime she walked past, she felt choked up on smoke.

There was that one evening, though, that burnt her more so then anything ever had.

Mind you, Pansy Parkinson was the type of person to burn herself with matches, and carve words into her skin, just to see the aftermath. She should have welcomed this emotional torture.

But there she sat, on the steps of that little cozy home, Pansy couldn't help but trip. That girl, that bushy baired girl looked so in place, that pansy wondered if she had just forgotten her.

Had Pansy ever seen her before?

Pansy, tripping and catching sight of a girl that was waiting for her parents to come home after a long day at work, muggle clothes yet an unusual trunk at her feet, had apparently caught her attention as well.

She looked up, and Pansy's face went red with embarrassment, this girl couldn't help but now be imprinted in Pansy's mind.

Had she seen her before?

Pansy walked past that house, trying to calm her heart, trying not to run.

That night, she sat in her room with tea at her feet, that girl on her mind, even if they were just thoughts, and Pansy could hardly remember what the stranger had looked like.

The next day, Pansy had forgotten about the girl enough to walk to the the rundown bookstore, again, as she had every day she could, to browse the cover art and pick out what names she could remember, and what books looked the lovliest.

Walking past that house, two plastic bags in either hand, books threatening to rip their boundaries open any second, Pansy couldn't help but look for that girl.

She wasn't there, but Pansy's memory of her was.

That evening, she couldn't read any of the books she had gotten, most meeting the great cover art, or the great summary, with garbage. Others were just too pressuring on Pansy's limited attention span.

So, instead, her mind wandered to bushy hair and black sneakers.

That morning, she showered, bathed herself in her coconut gel, and combed her hair. It was nice to familiarize herself with simple, normal in nature but girly in effect formalities that she rarely enjoyed.

Even if she hardly cared enough for it.

The books this time when coming home, were replaced with food and shampoo. It still took its toll on her though, and the weight caused her to trip, ironically enough, infront of that damned house.

Only this time, she had things in her hands to drop.

There, on her knees with a surely burnt body, did Pansy truly hate herself. Which was spectacular, when thinking later on the subject of it.

Even so, she hated herself even more when another pair of black sneakers came into view.

She dare'nt look up, not even when the person crouched in fromt of her, bushy hair grabbing Pansy's attention, even if she tried to ignore it.

But what did cause her to look up, was a hand reaching out to grab a box of soup. Pansy flinched back and met brown eyes. She couldn't read people, but she decided they were kind.

Kinder then most people.

"Need any help?"


End file.
